


if you're lucky

by jillyfae



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Established Relationship, F/F, Fluff, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 20:24:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4719278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jillyfae/pseuds/jillyfae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Homecoming and relaxation, when a Scout finally makes it back to the Undercroft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	if you're lucky

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aphreal](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aphreal/gifts).



> for [aphreal](http://faejilly.tumblr.com/post/125274605053) and #dwarf appreciation week
> 
> Because Lady Dwarves. :)

It was important to remember to take off your nice tunic before sitting down.

Especially after a long trip, breaking snow in the Emprise before climbing all the way back to Skyhold, having to look  _up_  at the damn humans all the way, until your neck ached all the way down to your heels; because of course she’d notice.

It would take a minute, the first brash greeting a tight hug and a kiss so quick it felt sharp against your lips, followed by all too many words and too bright eyes and hands waving through the air to emphasize a potentially disturbing combination of  _lyrium,_  and  _balance,_  and  _just one more try,_ and  _it was only a little anvil._

But then she’d sigh, and smile, and tilt her head, because she’d remembered to stop talking, and start seeing, and Dagna always saw  _everything_ once she looked, every little shift of weight and the shadows under your eyes and skin a bit too pale under your freckles and the mismatched tension in your shoulders.

And of course, as soon as she saw something  _wrong,_  she had to  _do_ something about it.

If you were unlucky, she’d sit down across from you and start asking questions,  _where did you go,_  and  _who did this or that or what or why,_  which was nice, actually, so it wasn’t much in the way of unlucky, she could make any story fun, just by smiling as you told it, leaning forward to catch every word until you’d run out of them, your fingers and hers all tangled together between you.

But it was better when you were lucky, and she shook her head and sighed and walked around behind you.

And she’d click her tongue, and chide you gently,  _darling Lacy, you don’t have the Sense the Stone gives nugs, sometimes,_  but that was fine, even if it was the worst case of the pot calling the kettle black anywhere on the whole wide Surface, because if anyone was brilliant without having a lick of sense it was your Dagna. 

Even so, it was better than fine, because after her sigh her fingers would brush down the back of your neck, light and sweet, and you’d smile and close your eyes, and when her fingers dug into the knot between your shoulder blades you’d groan, and as her fingers worked their way across your shoulders and down your back your eyes would stay closed, and your breath would be heavy, and you’d forget how to talk, or think, or anything besides relax, at last, beneath the strong, precise motion of her hands.

But there were always traces of  _something_  under her nails, and they left the oddest colored spots and streaks across your undershirts, (and sometimes even your skin, depending on what they were, and wasn’t that an adventure the next morning, seeing the trail of her fingertips across your neck or stomach or chest or thighs); which wasn’t a thing to worry about with cheap unbleached shirts, but quite ruined the appearance of the Inquisition Heraldry across your more formal wear, so you had to remember to take the tunic off  _first._


End file.
